Staying Solo
by Reading Redhead
Summary: Takes place near the end of ANH. Why did Han turn back to help Luke, instead of leaving? A conversation with his subconscious might explain a few things...


**Disclaimer:** Han and Leia and Luke and all those other pretty people aren't mine, they're all George's. And Bria, as far as I know, belongs to A. C. Crispin. Han's subconscious belongs to Han. Hopefully. Also, I must give credit to the fact that this scene was inspired by a very similar one in Jim Butcher's _Fool Moon_, which I highly recommend.

**Author's Note:** Well, first I still admit to not knowing everything about the Star Wars universe. Not even nearly everything. Any mistakes are unintended and completely my fault. (Especially excuse any mistakes or vagueness regarding Bria—I've only read _Paradise Snare_ since my library seems to have a depressing shortage of Star Wars books, and I had to return it to the library a week ago so I didn't even have it for reference.) Other than that, read and enjoy! And review as well, if it's not too much trouble.

Staying Solo

Han pulled the hyperdrive lever and watched as the stars slowly elongated into shafts of light converging around a central point, until all was blackness. The _Falcon_ made the jump to hyperspace with more complaints than usual; she was probably overdue for several repairs, Han reflected. Then again, being caught by those damned Imps couldn't have done her any good. He shook his head. At least he had his ship back, and his freedom—and just when he'd thought it couldn't get any better, he had earned a substantial reward for the rescue of the princess.

The only think he lacked now was the energy to remain awake. Somehow, the maneuverings of the past days, on the Death Star and off, had sapped his strength in a way he wasn't quite used to. Sure, as a smuggler he had to think quick at times, but he rarely had occasion to think so hard and so often that the mental stress practically _hurt_. That, coupled with the physical acrobatics he'd performed escaping from the Death Star, had made him immensely tired.

He turned and saw Chewbacca sitting steadfastly in the copilot's seat. Out of habit, Han checked the many dials and counters on the _Falcon_'s control panel, some of which only he knew how to decipher. Then, confident that nothing could possibly go wrong until the ship exited hyperspace in a day's time, he leaned back in his chair and was almost instantly asleep.

* * *

He was in a large room of some sort—a warehouse, maybe, or the cargo bay of a particularly large ship. A pool of light fell directly in front of him, illuminating a circle of plain duracrete floor. Han turned in all directions, but couldn't see any walls. So, doing the only thing that made sense, he stepped into the illuminated area.

Opposite him, another figure that had waited previously unseen in the shadows emerged from them into the light. Han instinctively reached for the blaster that hung in a harness around his thigh, but stopped before his hand even had a chance to touch the weapon.

In front of him stood himself. Han would have conjectured that a mirror had been placed in front of him, had it not been for the unsettling differences of appearance between him and his double. Though Han had always considered himself fairly handsome, he was also aware that he was…well, _scruffy_. He was the guy who looked the part of a space pirate in his comfortable but well-worn clothing, carrying at least one visible weapon at all times (and usually more concealed, but no one but him knew _that_). He had the easiest time blending in in shadier locales, favoring dimly-lit bars and other sleazy establishments.

The man in front of him, however, looked…well, _respectable_. His clothes were nice—not too nice, but nice enough that Han noticed and thought them unfit for a smuggler. Despite the lack of visible weapons, the guy carried himself in a way that made Han think twice about underestimating him.

The silence jarred at Han's nerves as he stared at his double and his double stared back. Finally, in an attempt to break the silence, Han said, "So who are you, the good twin?"

The _thing_ opposite him began to laugh, a rich and rolling chuckle. "That's good," he said, his voice a copy of Han's own. "Really good. You always were better with the banter. I guess that's why I let you take care of it most of the time."

Han didn't see exactly what was quite so funny. "Just who are you supposed to be, then?" he asked, fingering his blaster.

"And yet, never eloquent," his double mused. "Or overly intelligent, for that matter."

Han was starting to get annoyed. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't going to get away with impersonating Han and then insulting him to his face. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" he said, but his double remained mute. "What the hell kind of dream is this?" he demanded. Then, as an afterthought, "This _is_ a dream, right?"

"Of course it's a dream, Solo," his double drawled, "otherwise how could _I_ be here?"

Han was so shocked at receiving a response that he nearly lost his bearing. It was odd, seeing _himself_ say something when he knew he hadn't said anything. Wasn't it bad to talk to yourself?

"Who are you?" he asked, deciding that he'd risk being labeled insane; gods knew most people had done so long ago.

"Always wanting a direct answer," his double said, beginning to pace. "To put it plainly, I'm your subconscious." He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

This time it was Han's turn to laugh. "My subconscious," he repeated. "Yeah, sure."

"Hey, pal, you should be pleased—I took this time off to talk with you for a reason. Trust me, you need it."

"I don't need anyone's help with my problems, thanks," Han said, and he turned to walk out of the circle of light, vaguely hoping that the action might cause him to wake up. However, as soon as he turned around, his double—subconscious—was standing right in front of him, seemingly without needing to cross the intervening space.

"You're not leaving that easily, buddy," his subconscious said. "I got you here and you're gonna listen to what I have to say. That is, if you want to leave."  
Han was tempted to tell his subconscious to put his moves where his mouth was or shove off, but something about the guy made him slightly wary. After all, if he truly _was_ Han's subconscious, wouldn't he be able to anticipate his moves in a fight, or pull some other crazy prank like that? In a fight, the odds weren't exactly in his favor. Doing the safe thing for once, he looked back at his double and said, "Okay, fine, but make it quick, I've got things to do."

His double smiled, a crooked grin lightening his features, and gestured to his right. Suddenly an image of a young man appeared, as realistic as any holo. The kid stood in a half-crouch holding a gleaming light sword in his hands, and his eyes were focused on a point about a meter away from his head and slightly above eye level.

"Agh, Luke," Han let out a slight groan. "What's the kid gone and done now? More of that idealist crap?"

"That idealism's gotten him pretty far," his subconscious responded. "Few farmboys face Vader and live to tell about it."

Han couldn't deny the truth in this; considering his background, Luke had done exceedingly well. But still… "Gods, that innocence is going to kill him some day," Han said, finding himself sad that this was so.

His subconscious nodded. "Maybe," he said. "Everyone dies sometime."

"But that doesn't make it right," Han said, looking exasperatedly at the still figure in front of him. "Dammit, Luke, you coulda had a nice life, but you had to want something _better_ for the world, something _more_! So you go off on your crazy adventure—look where it's gotten you, kid!" He'd almost forgotten that the projection (or whatever it was) couldn't hear him. "And now he's off on this fool run to destroy an indestructible battleship with nothing but his guts, an X-wing, and an old R2 unit." Han let out a labored sigh.

"Of course, you know better than to get involved in anyone's business other than your own," his double said. "Don't wish for something better, something _more_, unless you're wishing it for yourself. Stay 'solo.' Right?"

Under the fierce gaze of his double, Han was suddenly pierced by the realization of a feeling that had been hiding in the back of his heart for a while: a slight twinge of compassion, for those friends he'd so recently made and night now lose.

But the feeling wasn't one he could afford. "What, are you my sub-_conscience_ now, too?" he asked.

Han's subconscious shrugged. "Well, it's _your_ time," he answered enigmatically. Han was about to protest that, as his subconscious, it was _his_ time as well, but before he could open his mouth to speak the figure of Luke was gone.

In its place stood the princess, her eyes hard and the hands that held her blaster steady with that steel resolve he'd come to see as definitive of her character. Incongruous to her apparent ferocity, she was (as always) clad completely in white.

"What am I supposed to say now, Mr. Psychologist?" Han asked his subconscious. He was angry with his double by now; no one was allowed to make him feel guilty, not even himself, but deep down inside that was what that projection of Luke had made him feel. Han wasn't going to let his subconscious trick him into any more guilt, wasn't going to let himself be wrong-footed. Not when he might still be able to get away.

"Well, if _I_ were in charge, you'd be calling up Her Highness and telling her that you're turning this ship back around. And maybe asking her out to dinner while you're at it," his subconscious added.

Han stared at his double with a raised eyebrow. So, not only was his double trying to get him to turn back, but it was also implying that he had romantic feelings for someone that he couldn't carry on a civil conversation with.

Laughter, he felt, was the best response.

"And you say you're my subconscious?" Han said. "I think you're mistaken. Yeah, I guess you look sorta like me, but no subconscious of mine would be as stupid as you're being."

"I think you've got it backwards," his double replied. "If I were a little dumber then maybe the resemblance would be easier to see."

Han stood, shocked. If he understood the whole subconscious thing correctly, he had just insulted himself.

"I don't have time for this," he grumbled, choosing not to act on the last comment. "The Princess can throw her life away for the Rebellion, take the kid with her, too, if that's what he wants. It's none of my business—and, therefore, none of yours."

His subconscious sighed exasperatedly. "You keep telling yourself that. But it takes a lot more than that to make _me_ believe it. You've got some _major_ repression going on, especially when it comes to her." He gestured at Leia, still frozen in place.

"What?" Han asked, annoyed. "I've known the _girl_ for—how long, a few days? What do you expect me to do? Run back to rescue her, then go down on one knee and profess my undying love?"

"Well, not quite, though with any luck you'll get there eventually," his double said. "But like I said, you've got some issues of your own to work through first. Most of these centering around a different woman entirely."

"What the—" Han started to protest, but the figure of Leia vanished and was replaced by another, someone far too familiar, a face he'd never wanted to see again.

She was only a girl, nineteen maybe, dressed in a shapeless robe-like garment. But her curly hair betrayed her springy excitement, and her eyes were bright and intelligent. And her smile, oh that smile, capable of melting his hardest expressions in an instant.

Han turned his back on the figure, not wanting to see it suddenly change before his eyes into the person she'd been the last time he saw her. The person he'd vowed to hate.

"This has nothing to do with her," he said, but his voice was unsteady, cracking over the last word.

"I'd say it has _everything_ to do with her," his double said, appearing in front of Han but mercifully keeping the image behind them both. "Her, and the way everyone you've ever loved has died on you, or left. You weren't this hard-hearted to begin with. But if a person holds on to all of those things you're holding on to—well, that's enough to make any man cold. Distant. Afraid." The last word was a whispered suggestion.

"I'm not afraid of anything," Han said.

"Then turn around and look at her," his subconscious countered.

Han sat, gathering his nerve, his will, trying with all his might to gather the necessary courage, only to find that it was not possible. He honestly couldn't face her, even her image was too daunting.

"I thought so," his double said, beginning to pace. "It's a typical case, really. You know how crazy this galaxy is. You know how easy it is to die. You know how easy it is to lose someone you love. So you've decided that it's better not to get emotionally involved with anyone to begin with. Less to lose, that way. But did you ever think that maybe there's less to gain? That maybe without love and loss, your life's worthless?"

"That's not the way it is," Han protested.

"You loved Bria, and she betrayed you."

At the sound of her name, Han flinched.

"And now you won't let anyone near." His subconscious stopped his pacing, looking at Han with something akin to pity. "Well, if hearing this from _me_ doesn't have any affect on you, I don't see how anything else will. But if you _were_ listening, I'd tell you this: whether or not you'll admit it, you have friends out there, friends who are in danger. Friends you may lose if you don't get off your seat and do something." His double sighed, looked up. "I tried," he muttered, "at least I tried."

* * *

Han woke up with the distinct sense that something important had gone on while he'd been asleep. He scanned the instrument panel, seeing that everything was functioning properly—

—and then he remembered. The dream. His subconscious. Luke, Leia, and even Bria standing right before him. He wasn't big on remembering his dreams, but this one stuck with him, as clear as though he'd just lived through it.

He rubbed at his temples with one hand; he was starting to get a headache. All of this was way beyond what he'd signed up for on this trip. It was all over his head, and had been for a while.

But still…

He had to admit that some of the things his subconscious had said made sense. Especially, he was finding, the suggestions about turning around. His subconscious was right about how easy it was for people to die in this galaxy—didn't he have some sort of duty to try and help people live, when he could? And these weren't just any people, but people he knew, people who'd helped him through a time of mortal peril.

People he cared about.

"Chewy?" Han said, his voice neutral. "I'm taking her out of hyperspace. Start making the calculations." Then, more to himself than to anyone else, "I'm going back."


End file.
